No Forgiveness
by Tsutarja-cuteness101
Summary: Magolor beat Kirby and co, and took the Master Crown for himself, getting himself everything he ever wanted, but...perhaps winning isn't so great. Inspired by a picture. Oneshot


Magolor sighed, leaning back in his throne, resting his face on his open palm.

So, he had done it. He had completed his goal of taking over the universe.  
As proof, here he was, sitting in the castle he had chosen to erect on Pop Star. In Dreamland, specifically.

It was fancy, varing shades of purple, maroon, violet, blue...his favorite colors. In fact, the throne he was currently sitting in, aside from being made from a precious metal, was royal blue...though it was, admittedly, hard to tell, due to the currently dim lighting.  
Not that it mattered, really.

Outside of that, he had multitudes of servants. People at his beck and call, all ready to do his slightest whim, for fear of upsetting him. An upset tyrant was never a good thing, and they already knew that all too well.  
In the past, Mags had wanted to be feared. Wanted everyone else to be as afraid of him as he was of the rest of the world.  
He had succeeded in that as well.

He had won in every sense of the word. Or so it seemed.  
He had the Master Crown. He ruled over everything. Everyone and anyone who ever stood in his way was now dead...

...and yet...

Why did he still feel so angry? So bitter? So...lonely...?  
It didn't make sense.  
When someone was on top...they were supposed _feel_ like it. They were _unbeatable_. They were on top of the world! They had _everything_ anyone could _ever_ want! And _they were supposed to feel like it_!

...So what was missing...?  
Why was there still an empty spot inside of him...?

 _What did Kirby do to me?_

With that thought, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath...  
...before opening them again, and slowly sticking his hand out.

Using his now-powerful magic, he conjured images.

Images of himself...  
Images of the four...

Images of Kirby...

He felt his chest tighten as he watched them.  
Watched his old self chat and play with those whom had helped him. Had called him their friend.  
Had made him feel the most alive he had ever been. Before or afterward.

...Soon, Kirby was the only one he could focus on.  
The little puffball _had_ been his favorite of them all.  
He had a certain...warmness, a friendliness and optimism that the others lacked. Though he had been too wrapped up in his goals before to care, it had always made him feel like...like...there was something more to himself.  
Like he didn't _have_ to do what he was going to to be happy. Like he could be better than that.

Perhaps those feelings had seeped into his behavior. Perhaps that was why they had all chosen to trust and help him, when, perhaps, they should have known better.  
...Or, perhaps...  
Maybe they didn't trust him so much after all.  
Maybe, just maybe, they all had...Kirby had...figured out or expected his real goals from the start...but had chosen to help him anyway. Out of a false hope that things would play out differently, or...an inability to ignore those that needed help.

Now he'd never know for sure.

Now he'd never have that warmth again.

Now...it was too late for him, wasn't it?  
Whatever kindness that had lived inside him appeared to have rotted away, as did his desire to even bother attempting to befriending any of these miserable creatures.

None of them were like Kirby or Meta Knight or Dedede or Bandana Dee.  
They were all cowardly, and selfish. Out to save their own skins and nothing else. It had always been like that.  
Those four...they were a rarity. Diamonds in the rough.  
There would never be anyone like that again...

And it was _all his fault_.

Even if he managed to find someone else like them, he wouldn't deserve an ounce of kindness they could offer. _Not that an Overlord like me needs it._  
In fact, he'd probably kill them too. _To keep them from usurping me, of course._  
He was too far gone for it to even matter anymore...  
 _..._

A bitter, unhappy laugh escaped from him. He pulled his hand close, staring deeply into the deadened eyes of the illusion.  
"What would you think of me now anyway...?" He asked, idly watching the mostly static image. "Would you still consider me a friend, you little pink fool? Or...would you consider me a monster...?"

"Of course!" The image's voice obliviously echoed from his memories, only moving in a rather stilted and limited way. It could do no more than merely shadow what he could remember. "We'll always be friends, Mags~!"

"...if that were true...even after I killed you...I'd have to worry for your mental health." He mused. The area around him slid into blackness as he began ignoring it, giving the false Kirby his full attention.

"Of course! We'll always be friends, Mags~!"

"But perhaps that'd be for the best.  
What would killing you again accomplish?"

"Of course! We'll always be - always be - always be frie - frie - frie - frie-"  
He finally closed his hand, shutting the faulty puffball up, and began laughing.  
It was instinctive. It had been so since he had put on the Crown; a strange way of assuring himself everything was alright, when it most decidely was not.

He continued laughing, not caring who heard him. Not caring if anyone chose to peek on him in this moment of weakness only he could indentify, not caring if anyone even checked on him. They probably already figured he had lost his marbles a long time ago anyway.  
That said, the laughter soon quieted, as he noticed something running down his face, and wiped it off.

Tears...  
He was crying...?  
But what good that do?  
What good was crying? Or regret? Or remorse?  
What good was all the what ifs in the world, the scenarios he could play back in his head millions of times?  
This was no dream, and magic didn't work like that. He couldn't just open his eyes and have things back to the way they were before.

He had killed them.  
He had taken over the universe, like he wanted. He had discovered that it was an empty endeavor. That it gave him no real happiness to do it.  
And he had to live with that now.  
There was no turning back, no little trick he could do to undo it all...  
No second chances to be taken.  
No forgiveness to be had...


End file.
